Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings Read Online Free PDF Page B

weeping eyes, and completely bald apart from their side knots. They made Markham look spotless and those are two words I never thought I’d get to use in the same sentence.
    A group of shrieking youngsters, all tangled up with yelping dogs, raced down to the water’s edge for a better view, and ran straight into Bashford’s team. There was no harm done, but Grey was knocked down. She staggered, fell, and dropped her pack, which hit the ground and fell open, spilling its contents everywhere.
    I took two paces to the left for a better view.
    The kids raced on regardless, kicking her stuff in all directions and I saw it. I saw the gun hit the ground and spin sideways. A laughing little boy, completely unaware of what he was doing, accidentally kicked it under a vat of caulk.
    No one noticed except me.
    Grey was on her knees, scrabbling her stuff together and ramming it back into her pack. Bashford and Gallaccio were still watching the boat. Cox stood guard over her as she knotted her pack together again and scrambled to her feet.
    I saw him say something to her, presumably asking if she had everything. I saw her look around. They both did. They both checked the area very, very thoroughly. It wasn’t their fault the gun was about ten feet away under a cauldron of cold pitch. And that was about the only thing we could be grateful for. That today the fire had been extinguished and the ashes were cold.
    Taking her arm, he helped her to run after the others at the shoreline.
    I stood undecided. Go after it now and risk the other team turning around and seeing us? Or wait for them to move off and risk losing it again?
    I hesitated and that hesitation was fatal. Even as I stood and stared, a tiny boy darted forwards, scooped up the gun, turned it over in his grubby paws, and before I could get to him, he ran off.
    â€˜Bollocks! Come on.’
    We set off after him. Very carefully, because there is never a time period when chasing after a kid is a good idea. The chances were that almost everyone in this boatyard was a relation of some kind or other. My plans for Christmas did not include being impaled.
    He raced around the sail-makers’ workshop and along the riverbank.
    We trotted after him, doing our best to look inconspicuous.
    He stopped after a while, looked around, and crouched in the dust to examine his prize.
    Peterson pushed past me and sprinted. Never mind what anyone thought – if he pulled the trigger then we really would be in the shit. Even more deeply than usual.
    Peterson was nearly there. A few more yards, grab the gun, ignore the inevitable protests and possible tears, then it was everyone back to the pod, jump back to St Mary’s, replace the gun, smile at everyone, and deny everything. We could do this.
    And then another boy burst out of a reed bed. Older and bigger, he’d lost his side knot, so he wasn’t a child any longer. Looking back, he might have been an older brother, and in the manner of older brothers everywhere, he clumped the smaller kid round the side of the head, relieved him of his treasure, and was away off down the path before anyone else had quite worked out what was happening.
    I made a mental note to remember how inconveniently fast children could move.
    Markham and I caught up and stared after the vanishing figure.
    â€˜Go,’ I said. ‘Both of you. I’ll catch up. Now. Go now.’
    They didn’t argue. A second later, the kid and I were alone. He knuckled his eyes and peered up at me, tears leaving tracks through the dirt on his face. I stared down at him. He looked like a giant germ. I should do something. I was going to be a mother. I should get some practice. Gingerly, I patted his head. Making a mental note that no kid of mine would ever be that sticky, I wiped my hand on my tunic and set off after my boys.
    I trotted around a stand of corn and nearly fell over Markham, sprawled across the path.
    â€˜What are you doing? Are you